


What Could Never Be

by unfictional



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Realization, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Stillbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfictional/pseuds/unfictional
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was in labour. This was not the right moment. This was not the time and it was not how he had expected it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Could Never Be

**Author's Note:**

> This came into my mind while reading brilliant metas on tumblr and I had to get it out, I hope it's not.. too bad.  
> Thank you to my wonderful betas, you know who you are! x

If someone had told John Watson twenty four hours ago that his child would be born in the early hours of this morning, he would have laughed and shrugged it off. “It's still a month left, Greg, you know”, he would have replied chuckling while finishing his pint of beer.

If someone had told John Watson twenty four hours ago that he would have a stillborn child and a dead wife in the early hours of this morning, he would have put his glass down and cursed at the horrible sentence. “Anderson, what the _fuck_?”

If someone had told John Watson twenty four hours ago that he would currently be leaning against a wall inside 221B and haiving a hard time breathing, he would, well, have believed you.

But he wouldn't think it was because of a stillborn child and a dead wife.

 

John had agreed the afternoon the day before after a bit of hesitation to go to a small place right outside London. Things were going unusually slow at the station and Greg had asked him if he wanted to join him and Anderson on a 'real guys weekend out' to get away from things for a while. They - or Greg at least - must have seen that John wasn't his usually nice self. Not since the incidents with the drugs and the thing where Sherlock flatlined for a minute or two and oh, and the other thing where he shot that bad guy in the head _right in front of John's eyes_.

Of course he wasn't alright and of course they wanted to cheer him up. John let them.

To a start, it really seemed to work. He genuinely had a good time from the moment he sat down in the car and had said goodbye to Mary and the now very big belly. His girls. The women in his life. He still hadn't forgiven Mary completely, which, he never thought he really would if he was to be honest with himself. She had been lying to him all along and he had been hurt, and even if he tried to forget it for a while, it kept haunting him every time he closed his eyes for longer than a moment. Perhaps it would go away eventually, with the baby and everything, however, it turned out to be hard to love a person who turned out to be a complete stranger.

But when it came down to it, he was starting to get used to being lied to for a long time and he decided that he just had to live with it if he was ever going to be allowed a somewhat normal life. Not that anything would _ever_ be normal with a baby and Sherlock Holmes in the same lifetime. He had promised Mary to be there for her and the baby because that's what a good husband does. And that was what John desired to be. After all, it was his privilege.

“Have you decided on a name yet, then?” Anderson asked when they had finished a very satisfying dinner at the old pub below the simple but very nice Bed & Breakfast they stayed at.

“Yes, we have actually”, he replied and took another sip of the beer. “Alice.”

“That's a really nice name”, Greg added to the conversation. “Is it a family name?”

“My grandmother was named Alice believe it or not, Mary told me she could feel that it was an Alice inside her before I even had told her about grandma.” He laughed softly and took another sip of the soothing drink. “So I think it's a win-win situation for me since she told me she wouldn't let me choose any of the names in the beginning.”

“Really?” Greg asked in surprise. “I thought you'd had some say in it.”

John smiled at them, thinking about the fact that he was being a dad soon. A father. He was going to get to raise his own little baby to be the greatest human being. Well, after Sherlock that is. His smile faltered. “Her full name will be Alice S. Watson, that's rather nice, isn't it?”

“What does the S stand for, then?” Anderson asked bluntly.

John was smiling again and put his hands under his chin, feeling the alcohol finally rushing through his blood and making him a bit more relaxed than he's been in a long time. “We haven't decided that yet. We think we will know as soon as we see her for the first time. Although, we're certain it's gonna start with an S.”

 

He was on his way back from the loo to the table inside the old pub when he saw Greg's worried face talking to someone on the phone – _John's phone_. “No”, he almost shouted, cursing because the only time he didn't have his phone in his hands something of course would happen. He sprinted as fast as he could, considering his current condition, to his friend and snapped the phone out of his hand.

He felt as if he could faint any minute now. The sudden rush of adrenaline mixed with alcohol was definitely not helping the panic he felt inside of him. The only thing he could think about was that Mary had promised she wouldn't disturb him if it wasn't extremely important, so he could only imagine the worst scenarios.

“Sir, your wife is on her way to the hospital, you need to come-”, but the only thing he could make out was the extremely familiar voice behind it in a very unfamiliar tone. “ _John!_ ” She had been rushed to the hospital the _only time_ he had been away from her since Christmas, if you don't count the trip to Appledore of course, and after a seemingly forced phone call from the paramedics, John knew that something was definitely wrong. She was in labour. This was not the right moment. This was not the time and it was not how he had expected it to be.

His two friends looked at him and he could reflect his own fear in their eyes. “John. Go.”

And then it felt like the world was moving in slow motion. His voice cracked when he told the cabbie a short while later where to go and he could not get rid of the massive lump in his throat. But he couldn't break down yet, he was a bloody soldier for God's sake! Soldiers don't.. do that. When he thought about it, this was not the first time he had had this feeling. A sudden flashback to the moment he found out that Mrs. Hudson had not been shot at all appeared in front of his eyes and he tried to swallow away the nausea.

Also, John was a doctor, so he knew what this all could mean. He hoped that he was not right at all. But the thing was that John Watson was over an hour away.

And an hour too late.

 

Sherlock would recognize those footsteps anywhere he was even though they weren't as determined this time. They were slower and more irregular than the usual military steps and he immediately knew that something was wrong. He got up fast from his previously lying position on the sofa and arrived to the door just when it opened and the sight was _horrifying._

John's eyes were bloodshed and he looked completely exhausted. The sleeve on one arm of his jumper was rolled up, revealing his shirt, and he noticed that his hand was shaking. This was not good at all, even Sherlock knew that.

“John. John, what happened? What's wrong?” But the other man just stood there, as if he had decided that he could very well just stand there forever. His right hand was trembling more and more and he was gasping for breath as if he had just run a marathon. Sherlock knew exactly what had happened.

“John. Listen to me. You need to calm down. You need to breathe!”

John was not moving. He was barely even breathing.

“John! You need to _breathe_!” Sherlock was starting to get really worried now, he didn't know what to do, but his instinct was to grab his wrists and push him against the nearest wall and put their connected arms above John's head and continue talking to him, in a now more panicked tone.

“John. Please do this, for me.” Sherlock didn't even care that his voice broke at the last words.

Long seconds passed before John finally closed his eyes and breathed in hard. Sherlock sighed in relief and closed his eyes for a brief second too. When he opened them again John was looking at him with tears in his eyes and he was gasping for breath. Sherlock slowly let go of his hands and led him to the closest place to rest and made John sit down. “Water?”

John nodded slowly but when Sherlock turned to leave he grabbed his arm and looked at him desperately. “Don't leave”, he managed to get out. Sherlock looked at him as honest as he could and swallowed nervously. “Never.”

He rushed off to the kitchen and thanked himself for having a few actually drinkable bottles of water in the refrigerator. He took one and grabbed a clean glass from the cupboard and was back in the livingroom after just a moment. John hadn't moved an inch and was still slightly out of breath. He poured the water in to the glass and made his best friend drink it all. Neither of them made any signs of moving the next coming minutes.

“When?” Sherlock asked and broke the uncomfortable silence.

“They told me it was around one thirty. I was-”

“Not there.” Sherlock could have continued telling him the things he had deduced since he heard the footsteps but the common sense John had somehow managed to get into him kicked in and he decided against it.

John looked up at him, his eyes a little drier but with as much emotion behind them as before. “The only time I'm not there. _The_ _only fucking time!_ ” He slammed his hands against his head and Sherlock knew he was on the verge of breaking down completely by the way he was trying to rip his eyes off. He made a quick decision and kneeled in front of John and grabbed his wrists again. “It was never your fault, John. Whatever happened, it was never your fault.”

“But I chose her. You told me that. _You told me_ that it was entilrey my fault!” He tried to get his arms out of the grip, but Sherlock only held them tighter.

“No. _I_ didn't say that. What you have to understand, John, is that the things that have happened to you.. It's not a coincidence that Mary was a part of your life. I don't know why, yet, but she must somehow have known who you were before you met her. But how would _you_ know that? Nothing of this is your fault.”

“But you told me-”

“I only wanted you to choose what situation was best for you. And you already had her.”

John stopped fighting back. “ _What?_ ”

Sherlock let go of his arms once again and made his way to sit down next to John on the sofa. He never meant to say that out loud. He had promised himself not to let John know anything just yet. Or ever. He couldn't look at the man beside him.

“Sherlock..” John said in a forced calm voice. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know what I meant by it, John. I was too late and.. You will be a great father one day.” He put together his hands and positioned them under his nose and chin as usual. He took a deep breath.

“Sherlock.” John started to sound a bit nervous now.

“You chose Mary because I _made_ you choose her. You said it youself, it's 'always my way'. You trust me.” He closed his eyes and continued. “You chose her because I told you to. You chose her because I made you realize that you actually had a choice and that it was nobody's but your own. I gave you reasons to why she might have given up her past life and become the woman you fell in love with. I told you that you could trust her, that she saved my life, even if she actually did kill me for a second. She tried to make me promise not to tell you _anything_ because she didn't want you to know. She wanted to spare your feelings because she loved you. She was afraid that you would stop loving her if you found out the truth. She didn't kill me because _she loved you_. She would never forgive herself if I had died because of her, likewise how I would never forgive myself if you.. if any of you died because of _me_.”

It was complete silence for a couple of minutes before John spoke again.

“But why did you tell me?”

Sherlock made no intention to reply.

“BUT WHY DID YOU TELL ME THEN, SHERLOCK?”

He could almost hear how John was pressing his lips together to not break again.

Sherlock took another deep breath. “Because I wanted you to choose _me_.” He made an effort to stand up.

“Don't you _dare_ walk away now, Sherlock Holmes”, John said fiercely and Sherlock sat down again, turning his head to look at the other man. “You promised to stay with me.”

Sherlock swallowed again. “The baby is the reason you stayed with her, John.”

John felt his eyes water against his will and this time he couldn't stop it. He knew this was true but he wanted it so badly not to be. But Sherlock was always right.

“You would have left her if there was no baby. You say you loved her-”

“Shut up.” John's voice was now heavy and a few single tears were close to fall down his cheeks. “ _Shut. Up._ ”

Sherlock opened his mouth but was silenced again before he could say anything more. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands, feeling like he had done something terrible. Why did he always have to know the truth? Then he heard a new noise coming from John and he looked up to the sight of the man _crying_. He started to panic again since he had absolutely no idea what to do. “John?”

The man next to him was sobbing and suddenly Sherlock saw a small child sitting there. He needed to do something and that fast. “John, can I-”

“Yes!” he managed to say, and before Sherlock knew it, he had his best friend crying into his shirt and grabbing it like he would never let it go. Sherlock reacted by putting his arms around him and hold him tightly. His body continued to do what he thought was right, so he continued holding him and started stroking his back lightly with his hand. John didn't make any signs that any of this was wrong so Sherlock let him cry in his arms for what felt like an eternity. An eternity that Sherlock could have doubled if John had needed him to. And then it was over. John let go of him and sat up, clearly a bit uncomfortable with the idea that he broke down in front of his best friend.

“Are you okay? Sherlock asked when John had dried off the remains of the tears on his face. He looked like a mess.

John smiled at him and an involuntarily sob mixed with a laugh escaped from his mouth. “Of course I'm not.”

Sherlock's heart fell and he felt like he had done something wrong. John noticed.

“But it's alright,” he added and looked at Sherlock, “because you promised not to leave me.”

Sherlock didn't know what to say.

“If this had happened while you were..dead, I'm not so sure that there would have been any me when you came back.” He paused and wondered how he even managed to talk about this, he hadn't even told his therapist about it. “I was so alone before I met you, but I was even more alone when I thought you had died. You know that I have a gun. I knew that I had a gun. But then I met Mary on one of the worst days, and life suddenly had a little more in it to make it worth living. Sherlock, she saved my life, but you have saved my life too. Multiple times. And now you just saved it again.”

Sherlock's temporarily disabled brain was working hard to take in everything John had just said. John was the one to save lives, not Sherlock. He solved your murder while John saved your life, that was how it was.

John started to regret saying anything at all. “Sherlock?”

“John, listen to me. Mary was exactly what you needed, I can't deny it. She loved you. She loved you so much, never forget that.” This was it. “And I supported your relationship because I love you too.”

John's heart made a flip and it started beating faster. It all hit him at once. How could he have been so blind? Images flashed before his eyes, the whispering of his name after Sherlock had pulled him out from the bonfire was more distinct than Mary's shouts, the words he had chose for the wedding made much more sense, and the way Magnussen had pointed out how much he cared for him.. that he was Sherlock's pressure point, it all became clear. Sherlock killed Magnussen for _him._  He sighed desperately and embraced him. “Oh _fuck_ , Sherlock. I am so sorry.”

Sherlock was not prepared for what had just happened but was still a bit confused. “Why are you sorry?”

John let go from the hug but was still holding his hands on Sherlock's arms. “I don't mind, Sherlock.” And then he leaned in and closed the distance with his lips.

Sherlock was stunned for a second before he relaxed and just let it happen. He didn't even remember closing his eyes. John was still holding his arms but soon enough he moved them up to his shoulders, then his neck, and then his fingers were in Sherlock's hair and they were still kissing. It wasn't a rushed kiss, it wasn't even deep. It was just a soft kiss and it was everything they both needed at the time.

And then it was over after what could have been mere seconds or a few days but neither made any difference. John let his hands slip down to Sherlock's arms again and moved back just a little so he could see his whole face. Sherlock's cheeks were flushed and his lips were a tiny bit swollen and he imagined he looked the same. His eyes were big and kind and a little hint of surprise could be seen.

“I'm so sorry I never noticed, Sherlock. God, I was so blind.”

“I didn't even know myself until very recently. But it was always there. Ever since you told me that what I did was amazing. And the look on your face when I.. engaged in a very friendly way with Janine is what makes me want to wake up every morning.” He smiled at the sight of the exact same face again.

John coughed and glared at him. “Shut up! Just.. shut up. Go and make me some tea or something.”

Sherlock stood up and John couldn't believe that he was actually going to do what he said. “I'm sure Mrs. Hudson has prepared something for us,” he said in a louder voice than necessarily. “You could hear her sneaking around from the other side of London by the noises she makes when she's a bit too nosy. I'll be right back.” He looked into John's eyes for an approval before leaning down to kiss his cheek.

John smiled sadly at the sight of Sherlock walking to the door. He wasn't happy at all, not even okay, but if this was how it was going to be for the rest of his life, it was enough.

 

 

 

_In loving memory of_

**_Mary Elizabeth Watson  
_** _1972-2014_

_and_

**_Alice Sherlock Watson  
_ ** _2014_

**Author's Note:**

> The way John suddenly seems to forget about Mary was not intentional, of course he is still sad about it and griefs her, but I didn't know how to fix it so I just went with it anyway. But please have in mind that I know that that part seems a bit rushed.
> 
> This is my first Sherlock work (or serious work at all) so a review would be very appreciated! :>


End file.
